Full Circle.

I've intentionally not updated for a while now, which should come as no surprise to anyone.

I'm actually planning to shut the blog down sooner rather than later but for some reason, I just feel like this post needs to be written. It's too much work keeping this up anymore and quite frankly, I'm ready to focus my energy on other things. On average, it takes me an hour to write one post because I'm such a perfectionist when it comes to putting my thoughts into words. It's not worth it anymore... that's an hour I could be spending with my kids, or Mike, on myself or getting something done. So more than likely, this will be my last post.

Things have been different lately. The last time I wrote about me, I wasn't in a good place. The first three months of the year were pretty ruthless on this heart of mine. I sunk to the lowest of lows, missing my Dad and coming to grips with the reality of our situation. During those three months, my whole world changed all over again. It seriously felt as though the foundation I had been standing on for the past year (and in some cases, even longer) was crumbling below me. Mike and I had some of our darkest of days as a married couple, I was a mess of a mother, a mess of an employee, a mess of a daughter & sister. My world was in shambles.

In April, I received a letter from my Dad. There wasn't anything special to it, it just was what it was. I could see the way in which he was trying to garnish my attention and sympathy, discussing the dramatics that goes on around him on a daily basis. After a few weeks, I mailed him back but kept my letter short and to the point: I miss the man you were, not the man you have been... Liana and Lukas are doing well.... The end.

My hope all this time was that he would see that I was trying so desperately to extend an olive branch to him. I was praying that one day, he'd let down that wall he had built so high and actually let me in. He'd see that while I loved him, I wasn't going to let him hurt me again. I hoped that he would eventually see my actions as those done in love, not out of hate. I even hoped that maybe, just maybe, someday he'd take ownership of what he did and apologize for how he had devastated us all.

May 6th, I got a second letter. It started out well enough, talking about how he misses Liana and Lukas and how he can't stand the thought of missing out on their lives. But before I knew it, "bad dad" began to rear his ugly head again. He blamed me for everything that had happened, accused me of trying to steal everything he had, told me that I never gave him the "benefit of the doubt" and swore up and down that none of this had been premeditated (which is such a joke). He told me not to send any more care packages (we had sent one in March) because he's "better off without them". Essentially, he told me never to try and have contact with him again and then proceeded to remind me of his wishes for funeral plans.

Needless to say, I was crushed one last and final time. How could he treat me this way? I was trying to take care of him the only way I knew how but instead of seeing the good I was trying to do, he only saw my actions as evil.

Oh the irony.

I wallowed for a while after that last letter came. Then a few days later I realized something that probably seems so simple to the rest of you.... He's just not worth it.

I wish he was. I wish I had a dad that loved me selflessly. But the fact of the matter is, I don't. My father is one of the most selfish and self-absorbed people I've ever met.

And yes, it pains me to say that. But the truth so often hurts, doesn't it?

Since then, I've been better. I haven't thought much about him because it doesn't do me any good. I've let go a lot of the anger and grief I had been holding on to. There's been so many big changes in my life so far in 2014, both dealing with the loss of my dad and others I had been close to. There's been a lot of loss.

But for the first time in a long time, I feel good. I feel like I've made it through the storm and the sun is finally shining again. My heart feels lighter. I look back and see this past year as a test- one which I've passed. My life doesn't feel devoid of anything or anyone.... it feels like this is exactly the way it's supposed to be. I look at my friendships and relationships differently now... these are the people that stood by my side through my darkest of days and came out on the other side with me. They're the ones that held me up when I felt like I was falling. There were people who I thought would be at the finish line with me but weren't. However, I'm at peace knowing that's the way it was supposed to be.

After nearly 15 months, I hope that I am free from my grief... at least for a long while. (I still dread the day I get a telephone call from my sister saying that something is wrong or that he's gone.)

Our day-to-day life is busier than ever. I find so much joy in watching my kids grow and trying to embrace the time we have together as I know it's fleeting. We continue to make our house a home and are *thisclose* to being done with all of our big outside projects. (We finally have a beach... with sand!) Mike and I are in a good place again and I'm so thankful that God has blessed me with such a good man and that my kids will never have to feel pain at the hands of their father.

The bottom line?

I feel happy and blessed.

And even though I haven't always understood His plan for me, I find comfort in knowing that He has one. Probably a good one too. :)

So this is how it feels...

I'm struggling.

Right now, it feels like every day is a struggle. I know the winter blues have gotten their wicked grasp on me this year, more so than ever before, because of everything that happened last month.

I stopped going to therapy... I realized in December that I wasn't getting what I needed out of it anymore. I learned some really valuable lessons and skills in the first six months and continue to put them to use and for that, I'm thankful. While I have so much respect for my therapist and she really, truly was amazing and so incredibly smart, I felt like she too often forgot to focus on the fact that I'm a daughter in all of this and not a Masters level Social Worker.

But I did start working out again (after taking a FAR-too-long hiatus) so I'm hoping that helps to elevate my spirits... or at least help me lose a few pounds!

For weeks I've been wanting to write down the feelings in my head. I'm a "thinker" by nature so whenever I'm not thinking of something in particular, I start to think about whatever is hitting me the most at the time. For the past month, those thoughts have revolved around my dad.

December was an unusually cruel month in my life. One I was both happy to see go and didn't want to end. Knowing that we're done with the legal proceedings is both comforting and sad for me. Because it means this is all a part of my past now... a "past" I didn't feel ready to let go of. I am relieved, however, by the fact that I no longer have to be fearful of what the outcome may be. What needed to happen, happened. As hard and painful as that may be.

The 19th, sentencing day, was especially traumatic. I relive that day often. Seeing him fall apart in court... saying words of love and then words of hate. Knowing that the whole world was about to see just how bad his behavior could be but knowing that now it was far, far worse. The man they splashed across every local news station was NOT my dad.... the dad I once knew seems to be gone. A person of my past. The man in that courtroom was a different person, one that has significant mental health issues and desperately needs help (but refuses to seek or allow for it).

I struggle every day with how I grieve for my dad. One moment, I miss him terribly. I think about past memories with him. I hear his voice and the excitement and happiness it could hold (usually pertaining to Liana). I remember so clearly how much he loved my kids... the way he sat and read book after book to them. The way he colored at the kitchen table with Liana (and truly did color). He lived at their beck and call. I miss the way he would call me up and say, "You tell that peanut how much her papa misses her!" and then guilt me into bringing her over despite the fact that we were usually there just about every day. I remember looking out our back window and watching him push her on the swings, just beaming with pride and happiness. I remember the way he selflessly gave up his time to watch her/them whenever I needed help.

I also remember how often he was there to help Mike and I. Anytime something went wrong with the house, he was the one we called. If we needed something done, he did it.

He was my go-to guy. I miss that. So, so much.

But after I remember all these things, I then remember how hard it often was. How he could say such cruel things when he was angry. The way in which everyone walked on eggshells around him. How he tried his hardest to control what we all did or were going to do. I remember the anger, the outbursts, the silent treatment we'd receive for days on end if things didn't go "his way". I remember him turning our lives upside down more than once when he decided he didn't want to participate in his marriage anymore. I remember the lack of consideration he showed to us throughout the divorce proceedings and ultimately, the night of February 15th. I remember how much harder he made this past year when  it seems that a "good person" who loved his family would have done anything to make things right and avoided causing any more pain.

Every day, I struggle with where to go from here. Do I write or do I wait for him to write? Do I tell him I love him in hopes that it'll help crumble that wall he's built so high? Or do I let those words pass me by? Do I put my heart on the line for a man who put us all through hell, or do I just walk away? Half of me wants to have a relationship with him still but the other half knows how foolish that would be. I fear he'll use me and manipulate me. I fear that he'll tell me what I want to hear just to get the things he wants. I fear that he won't mean whatever it is that he would say. Being betrayed by him in this way has been terrible enough but at least he's been honest (it feels terrible to say that, considering what his "honesty" has entailed)... I can't even begin to imagine how hard it would be to be lied to as well. I can't handle him telling me he loves me when in reality, he may very well hate me.

I feel like I have this huge void in my life now. A couple of weeks ago I finally thought to myself, "Wow, THIS is what grief feels like." For years I've been working in grief & loss with my patients and their families but I never truly understood what it was they were facing. Now I do. I know what grief feels like now. I know how deeply it goes into a person's soul when they lose someone so important to them. I know just how much it hurts.

(To clarify... more so for my own benefit than anyone else's due to a guilty conscious... I have grieved before. The loss of our baby to my miscarriage. But the grief I feel for my dad is very different than the grief I felt for our baby. And the grief I feel for my dad is far more relate-able in terms of the work I do.)

I often wonder if losing my dad to prison is harder than it would be if I had lost him to death. My dad was ripped from my life just the same as he would have been if he had died. The only difference is that instead of dying, he's sitting in a cell somewhere, CHOOSING not to be a part of my life anymore. Which hurts more? I can't say for sure, but knowing that your parent abandoned and walked away from you hurts like hell.

I realized over the past few weeks that I was in survival mode throughout the ten months leading up to sentencing. While I thought I was "dealing" with everything, I see now that I was only dealing with one side of things... the side that I could see and feel the most - my mom's side of things. I've grieved what he did to her and the lasting effects it's had on her and I know I'll continue to do so. I know that while my grief may someday take a vacation, it's only a matter of time until it comes back and I'm again reminded of this chapter in her story. But for the past ten months, my focus has been predominantly on her... likely out of a need for self preservation. How could I cope with the loss of him at the same time I was trying to cope with what he did to her? And getting her through the mess he made? It wasn't possible. But now, now I know I'm out of "survival" mode. I now feel the gravity of the situation....

My dad is in prison and will likely die there. While he's currently in Jackson, he could be shipped off to anywhere in the state in just a few short weeks... It could be 1 hour away or 10 hours away. He doesn't want to talk to me and I may never get the chance to see him again, at least while he's alive. I worry every day about whether he'll take his own life. I don't know how he's doing, what his days are like, whether he's lonely or made friends. After 30 years together, my dad has become an absolute stranger to me.

I really pray that this gets easier with time. I pray that I find resolution within myself to know what's right and what's wrong when it comes to my dad. I pray that God gives me the direction I need.

Here we go.

What does one say the night before she testifies against her father in criminal court?

Not sure. But I feel like I should write.

Writing has been hard for me lately, hence the extreme lack of updates. It makes me think and quite honestly, it's easier not to think.

I don't really appreciate the reminder of how screwed up my world has become over the past ten months. How screwed up our situation is. How screwed up my father is. How screwed up what he did to us was. I've come to realize just how valuable denial can be as a coping mechanism.

This week has been ten months in the making. I've been anticipating this week all that time but now that it's actually here, I don't feel ready. Somehow though, I'm also eager to get it over with. My life is full of contradictions these days.... if you're going to keep reading, you might want to get used to that.

Tomorrow marks the beginning of the end for us. In one sense that's good.... we'll be able to move forward with our lives and this will only be a thing of the past. In another sense it's bad.... we'll be expected to move on when in reality, I feel like I'm going to be brokenhearted all over again.

Because with conviction comes a sentence and with a sentence comes my dad getting shipped off to God-knows-where. While I haven't seen him in the flesh in nine months, I'm saddened by the fact that he will be sent hours away. I find comfort in knowing he's close even though at times, I've been fearful of that same fact.

I'm brokenhearted that this is our reality. That it's come down to this. The finality of it all is crushing.

As my sister said last week, "These three days are going to change our lives forever."

He's not a good person right now and he did a terrible, horrendous thing but somehow, I still love him. I want to hate him but I can't. He wasn't always a bad man. I look at the wedding photo that sits on my dresser every day and am brought back to how it once was. It wasn't perfect but it wasn't awful, either. He loved us in the only way he knew how... and while that wasn't a truly "healthy" love, it was better than nothing.

I can say that because now, I've got nothing with regards to him. And it hurts. A lot. He's told us that he wants nothing to do with us and his actions and words have repeatedly suggested this.

I wish I could see him wrap his arms around my daughter again. That I could hear the excitement in his voice when we all walked in the door. He never really knew how to love me well (or my sister or my mom for that matter) but he sure knew how to love Liana and Lukas well. He lived for them.

I only wish he had tried to live for them back in February. It infuriates me and devastates me at the same time that he gave up on being a part of our lives... and even worse, tried to take my mom out of this world with him.

I wish he could see Liana and Lukas and what they've grown to be over the past ten months. How much he's missing out on. I know I'd see a softer side of him if he did rather than this hate-filled side I see of him now.

I wish I could sit across from him that court room tomorrow and I could see his love and his regret for hurting us the way that he has. I know that won't happen though. Instead, I'll feel fearful and anxious because of his angry demeanor. He continues to make it blatantly clear that he has no regrets for his actions that night. Each time he says something to this effect, it's like a dagger to my soul all over again.

Because not only did he destroy my mom's life that night, be he destroyed the rest of ours as well.

I hate to say that because I feel like it gives him too much control but the fact is, right now it's the truth. Every day I live with the pain of what he did and what he's doing... to her, to himself, to Brittany, to Liana, to me.

I've never felt so broken and so strong all at the same time. I feel like I'm at a healthy place in my grief because of therapy but at the same time, I feel like I'm falling apart. How does that work? If you know, please, tell me. I can't for the life of me figure it out.

I just wish God could make his heart softer. I may be 30 years old but when it comes down to it, I'm just a girl who wants to be loved and cared for by her dad.

So, that's where I'm at tonight. All over the board mentally and broken emotionally. I know I'll get through this week because I have to. But how I'll get through this week, I'm still unsure of.

I just hope that someday, God answers some of these questions I have for Him because "not knowing" is weighing heavily on this heart of mine.

Update.

It's been three months since I last wrote.

Things have been busy.

There's been lots of ups and a few downs.

Many times I've found myself driving around and thinking of the next blog post I need/want to write. I even commit to doing so in my head. But by the time I end up back at home, get the kids in bed, and sit down in front of my computer, I have nothing left to give so I lose myself in Facebook instead.

Plus, therapy has been critical in getting a lot of my thoughts and feelings off my chest so I haven't felt a strong need to share them here. I know many people would appreciate knowing where I'm at with this SUPER crazy life of mine, but sometimes I just gotta put myself first. I know you all understand. :)

But, here's a long overdue update.

First things first....

Today would-have-been-but-kind-of-still-is my parents 34th anniversary.

Brittany and I have been planning for months to spend this day with our mom because we just didn't think it would be fair for her to spend it alone. While I wasn't sure whether she'd be feeling up or down today, I was happy to find her in great spirits this morning when I arrived at her house. After my conversation with her yesterday I kind of had a feeling that would be the case as we talked about how much better our lives are without him in it.

Of course there's a part of us that misses him.

There was a good side to him but overall, he made our lives hard. The way in which he could be cruel, controlling, unpredictable and manipulative always left us feeling like "What's next?" We walked on eggshells and went out of our way to make life easier for him in the hopes that it would make life easier for us. (It rarely did.)

But life is easier without him in it.

We didn't do anything too significant.... went to the Grandville Fall Harvest Fest, Costco, hung out and then rented a movie. But it was just the three of us and we had a good time. We laughed and made fun of each other (maybe a little too much!).

I didn't have to worry about what he would do/say to upset her. He always had a knack for ruining special days. It was kind of his "thing".

There were no tears shed. Just laughter.

I hope that maybe every year on this date we can come together, just the three of us. Make it a new tradition. Focus again on what we've gained from this disaster rather than what it's done to us. Focus on who we DO have rather than on who we DON'T have.

Next up:

Yesterday.

Yesterday morning my mom and I went downtown for another court hearing.

It's kind of sad that this is becoming one of our "things to do together."

This hearing was for the divorce. We're now up to seeing three different judges for three different but interrelated issues. Judge Quist for the divorce. Judge Lieber for the criminal trial. And now Judge Redford for the civil suit (I'm still not sure if it's technically a civil suit but that's the best way I know to describe it.)

Let first say.... I LOVE JUDGE REDFORD. Vote for him. Forever. He's amazing and a GOOD man. I had to stop myself from running up to his bench and giving him a hug after this hearing. Honest.

Essentially what's been going on is this: my dad's an asshole. There, I said it. He's doing everything in his power to make this divorce as difficult as possible and he's spending thousands and thousands of dollars while at it. Keep in mind that the man will likely spend the rest of his life in prison and won't actually benefit from anything he gets because the state will take most of it for his expenses within the prison system. So basically he's just trying to spend the money so that my mom doesn't get it. Yep, asshole.

Meanwhile, Judge Quist isn't all that helpful and he's pretty unpredictable. We don't feel safe leaving the terms of the divorce in his hands after he's made some pretty surprising (and we feel unreasonable) decisions regarding this case. It seems like this divorce case should have been black and white after what happened on February 15th but no, Judge Quist hasn't seen it that way.

So, yesterday was a step forward to take matters out of Judge Quist's hands. At least for the most part. Yesterday was a "summary deposition" hearing in which information was presented to Judge Redford in terms of the attack. My mom and her attorney are asking that Judge Redford award a portion of the marital estate to her for the pain and suffering she endured at the hands of my father. This way, she'll likely get more than only 50% of the estate. Hopefully, much more as we all feel that my dad deserves little to nothing at this point. And in all honesty, we're a bit scared as to what he could/would do with any money that's left to him.

The hearing went really well. I remember looking at the gorgeous pink, purple and blue morning sky while driving to my mom's house yesterday and thinking to myself, "This is a sign from God. Today's going to go in our favor." And it did. :)

Judge Redford ripped my dad's attorney apart. Words such as "merciless beating" were used. This is the first time I've heard a judge take such a stance and use such powerful words when describing the attack. Seeing the look on my mom's face as she heard these words was so rewarding... finally, someone within this legal system besides her own attorney was showing her some compassion and heart.

And then he judged in favor of "the plaintiff" meaning that in another month or two, we'll be going for another court date to determine what her compensation for pain and suffering will be. I really pray he just gives her everything. Not because I don't want my dad to have anything, but again, because I'm scared of what he might do with whatever he's awarded. I used to think I knew what he was capable of... no more.

November and December are going to be busy months for my mom and our family. The criminal trial is set to begin December 2nd and we are incredibly (but cautiously) hopeful that this divorce will be final before December 31st. If you feel inclined to pray for my family, please pray that things move through the system quickly, efficiently, and that this is the case.

Finally:

How am I doing, you ask?

Well, that's a loaded question.

For the most part, I'm actually doing okay. I credit this to therapy. My therapist, Cindy, has taught me some incredible coping skills and I feel like I can see clearly a great majority of the time. I've also learned so much about myself in the process.

However, I do still have some hard times. They're usually short-lived and fleeting, but they definitely pop up once or twice a day, usually when I'm in the car alone. In these moments I miss my dad and the person that he once was. I find myself sad over the fact that I don't have a "dad" anymore. I think about him in his jail cell and I wonder how he's doing, what he's doing, what he's thinking. I find myself trying to figure out how he can hate us so much when all we ever tried to do was love and take care of him. Sometimes I go to the dark place of "what ifs?" and think about how this could have ended so differently. Sometimes I want to see him... I want to walk into that house and just watch TV with him again... I want to watch him read the kids books or sit with them in his chair like he used to.  I want to see him beam with pride and smile from ear to ear when he looks at them.

But I don't allow those moments to stick around for more than a few minutes. They just hurt too much so I push them out of sight and out of mind.

I was having nightmares a lot. They were happening just about every night for a while but now have calmed down a bit.

I'm eager to get this show on the road but at the same time, I know it's going to be emotional hell. I haven't seen my father's face in months and I haven't seen him in person since March 23rd. Yesterday in court, we realized once we got into the courtroom that there were no monitors to teleconference him in and other jail inmates were in a holding cell waiting for sentencing. Sheer panic struck both my mom and I when we realized that he might actually be present in the courtroom with us. My anxiety skyrocketed and it felt like I was going to have a panic attack. It scares me to be in the same room with him. Not so much because I think he's going to do something but because of the way he looks at us. Filled with absolute, pure hatred. No matter how hard we try, he still has that hold over us.

And with that, I'm done.

I'm going to try really hard to have some more positive updates soon.... the kids are at such a fun point right now and I'm just so in love with them (even in spite of their attitudes at times!). Even in the darkest of times they push me forward and light the way for their mama.What a blessing they are to me. :)

66.

July 31, 2013.

My dad's 66th birthday.

The first birthday in 30 years that I haven't spent with him.

I thought today would be a bit harder than it has been. Or a lot harder.

Thankfully, it's been okay. The kids and I kept busy this morning by going to the library and I'm looking forward to a night with my family. Part of me wishes my dad would be there and that he didn't have to celebrate his birthday in jail this year, but I come to grips with this reality a little bit more each day.

I've realized it's the safest place for him to be. That he needs to be there and deserves to be there.

I'm coming to grips with other realities, as well.

Therapy has been extremely helpful in this respect. Cindy, my therapist, has helped me see realities that have always been present but that I never understood before. While it's important for me to see my life and this situation clearly, which is what therapy does for me, that doesn't make it easy. I've left therapy a few times feeling like my whole world has been turned upside down all over again. When you believe something as truth for 30 years and then are suddenly told it's all a big lie, you find yourself questioning everything else in life that you believed to be true as well. The farther we dive into the messiness that is my life, the more she begs me to keep coming back and to not give up on this process. I understand why... we talk about tough stuff and sometimes, it would be easier to just quit and live in denial. But I'm not willing to take the "easy" way out of this for myself, my marriage, or my kids. I'm here to be a better person and to see clearly for the first time in my life. I'm committed and I'm in it for the long haul.

We talk about a lot of things in therapy. Last week, my earth-shattering revelation was that domestic violence is not a direct result of bipolar disorder.

This seems logical, now that I think of it that way and in those simple terms.

But historically, I've always attributed my dad's emotional abuse to his bipolar disorder. Because people with bipolar often have a difficult time controlling their emotions and when you can't control your emotions, you're at risk of being more emotionally volatile.

My dad is the picture perfect example of someone who's emotionally volatile. We never knew whether he was going to be up or down and often, that could change on a dime. He said horrible, mean, degrading things when he was angry and when he wanted to make up for it, he spoiled us rotten.

I've learned that he's a sociopath.

Granted, I realized this a few months ago, but now those feelings have been validated. He shows no remorse for what he's done and has gone so far as to say that out loud.

I've learned that he truly cares about nobody but himself.

And that he tries to manipulate Brittany and I into believing that he does. We mean nothing to him. We're just a means to an end in his eyes. That's a painful reality for any child to realize about their parent.

He didn't even think about how his actions on February 15th would affect us. And he still fails, day after day, to think about how his actions still continue to affect us. He sits in jail and continues to make our lives miserable. He steals money from my mom left and right and he truly feels he's "owed" this money despite the fact that he tried to MURDER my mother, not to mention that he'll likely spend the rest of his life in prison.

We've tried to take care of him but time after time we've been greeted with a slap in the face.

It's just never-ending. His main focus right now is "winning" when it should be so vastly different. He should be begging for our forgiveness, trying to be a better person, trying to make up for what he did through acts of kindness, compassion, and regret.

For a long while, I deeply grieved the loss of my dad.

Through therapy, I've realized I'm grieving the loss of a dad. The fact that I never had one and now, that I never will.

We're working on my codependence. (See the definition of codependency here.)

When looking at my life in this context, it's been one "a-ha!" moment after another. I'm starting to understand why I am the way that I am and how my parents have shaped me into the person that I've become.

I've struggled a lot with anger towards him in these past three weeks. I've struggled more with my grief. I've realized that in the months following the attack, I was in survival mode. Now that I'm getting beyond that, reality has started to set in. I've realized the gravity of the situation a bit more. Like....

If he had it his way, both of my parents would have been dead right now.

He held weapons in his hand and tried to beat her to death. I think about how much hatred he must have felt to do that.

The events of that night have been flashing through my mind. The sounds of that night too. I didn't need to be there to understand (though not fully) what happened in that room. The sights, the sounds, the smells.

I cannot believe she survived that attack. And the flashbacks and memories she must have as a result of it.

I hate him for changing everything. For not only robbing me of my innocence when it comes to this stuff, but for robbing me of both my father and my mother too. Even though my mom is still here, she's not the same a she used to be. So when I mourn my losses, my "old mom" is still one of them.

But yet, there's still this part of me that loves him too. That wishes he would try and be a better person - if not for himself, for Brittany and I. I used to look at others with screwed up family relationships and think, "How can she/he still love them? Why do they still want to take care of them? Why do they keep giving them second chances?"

I get it now.

I guess the difference for me is that right now, he's not giving me any reason to love him, take care of him, or give him a second chance.

And as hard as that may be, I think it's the easier alternative. My life is easier without him in it.

But I will always, always, mourn the loss of having a "dad".

Happy Birthday, Marshall Scott. I know today won't hold much celebration for you and you're probably raging over the fact that you didn't get a birthday card, but such is life.

A Fathers Day to forget.

I've been dreading this day all week.

Sunday, June 16th. Fathers Day.

Confession: I'm a pessimist by nature. Always have been. It's not an endearing trait and not one I'm particularly proud of so I usually try to keep those pessimistic feelings under wraps. But today, I'm having a hard time doing so.

Yes, I am blessed. Yes, I have a husband who is a wonderful father to my children. He blesses them in ways I never expected. He loves them unconditionally. He does all the things a dad should do... and more. He's patient and understanding (most of the time!) and their smiles tell me just how much they love him each night when he walks through that door. I am so incredibly lucky to have married this man and to know that my children, our children, are in loving and gentle hands.

I am also blessed to have a wonderful father in law who is our biggest cheerleader. I've never been a "words of affirmation" kind of girl and I was never used to a man telling me how proud he was of me growing up. I was also never used to a man showing me affection through simple gestures like hugs and pats on the back. My father in law is the cream of the crop when it comes to these things, constantly telling his children how much he loves them and how proud of them he is. My husband learned from the best and for that, I am forever grateful.

I desperately wish I could say that my dad was "the best dad in the world". Checking facebook this morning, with the dozens and dozens of posts from my friends about their wonderful dads, I found myself feeling terribly sad. I knew those posts were coming but I didn't expect the way they would make me feel. Don't get me wrong - I'm so happy for these people that they have been blessed with such wonderful fathers in their lives. I just wish I had been blessed in that same way.

Today, I'm feeling angry. I'm grieving the loss of the dad I wanted but never had.

And I'm even grieving the loss of the dad that I did have.

Because sometimes, even having an "okay" dad is better than having no dad at all.

You see, my dad was always a very distant man. He was there in body but never really in heart. He was a "stay at home dad" because his job was always maintaining the houses; ours and the four others he managed as rental properties. Sometimes he would get busy with projects on these houses but for the most part, he was home every day, all day. Any time you would walk into my parents house you were more likely than not to find him sitting in his chair in the living room and watching television. He didn't do much else. He was a "glass half empty" kind of guy... I guess that's where I got that trait from. He never "loved" life but rather sat on the sidelines watching everyone else enjoy theirs. It made him pretty miserable to be around at times.

But we loved him nonetheless. My mom, Brittany and I tried our best to take care of this man. We attributed his personality and behaviors to the family he grew up in.... an emotionally and physically abusive one plagued with mental health issues. We told ourselves for years that while he was never good about showing his emotions or talking about them, that they must be there deep down. We always gave him the benefit of the doubt.

Now, I can't help but wonder.

Does he really love us? Did he really love us? Or were we always just a means to an end?

He didn't want to be alone but yet he didn't know how to be a part of a family.

Now, four months and one day later, I feel like my dad has been ripped from my life. It's such a complicated loss. He's not dead but its hard to consider him alive. He's so close (14 miles away, to be exact) yet so far away. There have been times I've been close to the jail for work purposes and I'm plagued with anxiety, knowing that he's within walking distance but I can't go see him. He may as well be a million miles away because that's just how it feels. And some days, he may as well be dead because that's how it feels too.

Like on days like today. Fathers Day. When I can't even celebrate the man that he was or the man that he is. I can only mourn what I had always hoped for and what I know I'll now never have.

A dad that loves unconditionally.
A dad that is selfless instead of selfish.
A dad that would do anything to protect us from hurt.
A dad who misses us as much as we miss him.

Today, I find myself angry. For all that he's taken from us. For all that he's taken from himself.

I also know that 14 miles away, he's sitting in his jail cell and probably feeling angry about the fact that he doesn't have visitors today. That he didn't receive any cards. More than likely, he thinks that we're having a special meal and enjoying the day together when this couldn't be any further from the truth.

We all hurt too much. We're just trying to make it through one of the toughest days we've had in a while.

I wish he could see what he's done. I wish he could understand how hard this day is for us. I wish, for once, he could see beyond his own thoughts and feelings to ours.

I wish I had been blessed with a great dad. And as angry as I am for the fact that he put us into this situation, today I would even settle for my "old" dad rather than this "new" one.

Losing Dad.

So, it's been a while. Eight weeks and two days to be exact.

To say that we've been a bit busy would be an understatement. We're finally in our new house and it feels great. I didn't realize how much I missed having our own place in the world, a place to truly call home, until we had it again. I'm thankful to be in our new home.

Though I miss living across the street from my mom. A lot.

The past eight weeks have brought on a whole lot of other changes too. Some are pretty small and then others are pretty big.

Today was the perfect representation of one of the biggest changes though....

We spent the day at my mom's house trying to sort through all of my dad's stuff to be sold. What doesn't sell will be donated.

If you know my dad and you know of his OCD behaviors, you know this couldn't have been any small task. It was overwhelming so for the most part, I sat back and watched as my mom and some of her friends did a majority of the work. I'm so thankful that these friends took the bull by the horns and helped her do this because it wasn't something I was ever looking forward to doing myself. At one point during the day while she and I were alone I said, "I always knew we'd have to do this one day, I just figured it'd be when he was dead."

Hello, reality.

My grief has come a long way over the past eight weeks. I've started seeing a therapist which has helped me tremendously.

But as there always is in life, there was also a tipping point. A moment in which everything changed... again.

I've been receiving letters from my dad religiously for a while now. They always seemed to come on Fridays and Saturdays and I usually would get about two or three letters a week. At first they were focused around property issues; what he thought we needed to do with what pieces of property and so on. Over time though they began to take a different shape; he would ask questions about us and my mom in a way that made us all feel uneasy. After a few weeks of this it became clear that he was probing for information not because he genuinely cared but because he wanted to keep tabs on us to maintain some sense of control. He tried to maintain this control through his manipulation as well and I've come to see just how good he is at this.

For me though, the straw that broke the camels back came a few days after Easter when I received  a letter stating that he "hoped to never have to live through another holiday without Liana and Lukas" and that he was "planning to make that happen".

How is a daughter supposed to respond to such words?

Initially, my heart responded with agony. How did we get here? To the point in which my dad is basically telling me that he is going to try and kill himself while in jail and I'm not sure whether that'd secretly be a blessing or a curse? I cried out of desperation. His, mine, ours.

In tears, I walked across the street to share the letter with my mom. (Each letter that comes, whether it's addressed to myself, Brittany or Mike, is shared. Everyone reads it and my mom keeps them.) We sat on her bed, crying together and unsure of what to do. The social worker in me knew that the right thing to do was call the jail and report this to them so that they can do what needed to be done in order to ensure his safety. But the daughter in me, well, she often felt like he would be better off if he had succeeded in his suicide attempt that night. Like we all would have.

As I sat there talking to my mom, reading and re-reading that letter dozens of times, it clicked -

Would a suicidal man really spell out his plans to his daughter in writing?
Would a suicidal man really still be fighting for 50% of the estate?

No. But a manipulative man would.

In that moment, I felt like I could finally see my dad for who/what he was.

I saw him for the control that he was trying to bestow upon us. For the way in which we were just a means to an end. I realized to him, we were nothing special. We may be his daughters and his wife but to a person like this, those are merely words with little meaning behind them. He doesn't love us, he only loves himself. He only looks out for himself.

Which he so clearly proved the night of February 15th when he shattered our worlds, one by one.

That moment was one of liberation for my heart. It was the moment in which I realized that my life would be better without him in it. That I didn't have to continue fighting for him, taking care of him, worrying about him because he certainly wasn't doing any of those for me.

Don't get me wrong, I love my dad and I always will. I never wanted to have to push him away and close him out from my life. All I really wanted was for him to love us the way that we loved him.

But it's pretty obvious that isn't going to happen.

Cutting my dad out of my life isn't about being hateful towards him. It's about self preservation. It's about not letting him get the best of me anymore. It's about not letting him ruin any more of my days. It's about not walking out to the mailbox in dread because I know that even if there's a letter in there with my name handwritten on it in pencil, I'm not going to let his words weigh on my heart. He can only hurt me if I let him and at this point, I refuse to let him hurt me.

My dad wasn't always a bad person. I look at old pictures now of the days when things were good and I find myself questioning how he could have changed so much. He surely was never a perfect person or a perfect father, but he loved well for at least a little while.

I'm slowly coming to terms with the fact that the man I know now, the man in those mugshot pictures, isn't the man I've loved all my life. In the words of my therapist, "that's the 12 year old you that feels that way about him." She's right. I love the man that he was but I can't love the man that he is now.

I just can't. I won't.

I hope that someday, he can find love in his heart again. I hope that he sees my actions for what they are... not of a hatred towards him, but of a love for me. I can't take care of myself and try to take care of him at the same time. It just doesn't work.

Everything changed.

One month and two days ago, my world was turned upside down.

Every day, there's a thousand different thoughts that run through my head. They plague me in the most literal sense.

Things like:
How long did he plan this? At what point did he know he was going to do this? Did he think it was crazy or completely rational? Why didn't he think about what it would do to Brittany and I? Why wasn't I worth a simple apology? How could he have written me off so easily? And my kids? Did I ever really know him? How does someone you've known your whole life turn into a complete stranger overnight? Does he still hate me? Is he still angry at me? What if he had succeeded? Where would I be in my life if he had? What would I have to be contending with right now? What if my mom hadn't outwitted him? What if he had used a gun? (They both would've been gone then.) What are his days like now? Does he sleep at night? Is he comfortable? Or safe? Will he die in jail? Will we ever talk to him again? Is he remorseful? Does he wish he had not done this?

And those are just the thoughts I dare share. I have so many deeper, darker thoughts too that rattle me to my core.

What happened on February 15th was big.

So big, in fact, that it doesn't feel real. It feels like my life is a television drama and that I have a front row seat.

Someone made a comment to me last week that my life will forever be lived in terms of "before" and "after".

Before this attack, my family was much like any other. Obviously we had our own share of issues and our own demons. But growing up within the environment that I did, with a dad who was often angry and a mom that was often trying to make it better, was normal to me. I knew it wasn't normal to everyone else but it was to me. I never really considered my dad as an "emotionally abusive" man, just one that had grown up in a physically abusive household and had a lot of anger and control issues as a result. (Hello, denial.) My relationship with him was always tenuous while living at home... he and I are alike in many ways so we naturally butted heads a lot. When compared to my mom and my sister, I'm the more outspoken one so I didn't put up with much of his crap and when he was being an ass, I told him. (As you can imagine, he didn't receive that well.)

The day I got married, that changed. The day Liana was born, it changed even more.

Liana was his life in the most obvious of ways. She idolized her papa and he basked in that. He gave her everything she wanted and more, so the cycle would continue and she then idolized him even more. When I quit weekend option and went to a M-F schedule, he watched her while I worked. Those days were what he lived for... again, in the most obvious of ways because the rest of his days were spent sitting in the same chair, watching television and being bored and resentful.

Liana changed the way he responded to me because he was always scared that I would keep her from him if  he hurt me. Unfortunately though this had little effect on the way he responded to Brittany and my mom. The emotional abuse continued. And even though he wouldn't take his anger out on me anymore, that never stopped him from taking his anger towards me out on one of them.

For 29 years and 8 months of my life, this family has walked on eggshells around him, never knowing what we might say or do to set him off.

After this attack, nothing feels the same. My mom is different and while I know in my heart that she won't be like this forever, she's not the same person that I lived with the past 29 years and 8 months. She's scared. Overwhelmed. Dependent. She's been reduced to a shell of the woman who has always been so strong and steadfast in my life.

My dad is in jail and facing a lifetime prison sentence. Other than in court and on the news, I anticipate that I will never see him alive and in person again. I often find myself desperately wanting to talk to him but I know that no good could come from that because even though he did this to us, I'm fairly certain that he's the one harboring feelings of hatefulness while sitting behind bars. In one day and by one action followed by many, many more that night, my dad was ripped from my life. While things weren't good before this, there was always room for hope. My hope to have a relationship with my dad died that night... along with a lot of other things.

My sister and I are surviving. We feel so many different emotions and often, more than one within the same moment. Sadness. Anger. Confusion. Joy. Fear. Gratefulness. Devastation. We've been left to pick up the pieces of what my dad did and while happy to do so considering the alternative, it's an overwhelming task much of the time.

I realized this week just how deep my denial runs. Disbelief is one of my biggest thought processes... Is this really happening? Did this really happen?

It just doesn't feel real.

Even when I have a "Major Case Squad" detective programmed into my contacts, along with a Kent County Prosecutor. Even when we get a letter from a lawyer or a phone call from the social worker at the jail. Even when I see either of my parents pictures splashed across the television screen or newspaper page. Even when I sit across the room and look at my mom and the scars and bandages she now wears. Even when I go to the Rockford house to check on things and pick up the mail.

My denial does run deep and while I know it can be a dangerous coping mechanism, it also saves me. When I need to put one foot in front of the other, it helps me do that.

I've noticed that my work days seem to be my hardest days. I think this is because when I'm at home with the kids, I can't cry. Not because I don't want to but because I don't have time to. Liana and Lukas are just too young to understand that "mommy just needs a minute" (or an hour, or lets be real here, a week). By the time they go to bed at night I'm so emotionally spent that I have nothing left to give to myself. However when I'm working, I'm often alone in my thoughts and alone in my car. It's in those moments that the reality of this situation truly hits me.

There are no words to express how thankful I am that my dad did not succeed at what he was trying to do that night. There are no words to express how thankful I am that my mother is asleep in the room next to me.

There aren't enough words to explain all the ways in which this has effected me and our family.

But my life will forever be defined in the terms of "before" and "after". Because everything in my life changed in just a few short hours on that fateful February night.

Shattered.

I sit here, not knowing where to begin and what to write. Not because I don't have the words but because I'm too afraid to share them.

One week ago tonight, my world was shattered.

As some of you know and many did not, my parents have been in the process of a rather difficult divorce since November. In hopes of keeping things amicable, my mom has been seeing my dad every once in a while. Last Friday evening was one of those nights. Unbeknownst to me, she had gone up to his home in Rockford to have dinner with him.

All evening long on Friday my gut felt like something just wasn't right. I had called her right after we finished dinner to see if she wanted to go with us to see the progress on the new house - no answer. I tried the home phone - no answer. While this wasn't completely out of the ordinary, I had grown more accustomed to her "flying off the radar" for periods of time since the beginning of the year when the divorce truly started to get messy.

Because I currently live across the street from her, I was able to see that the house was dark and the garage was closed when we left that night. And that nothing had changed when we got home an hour later.

I knew in my heart that she had gone to see my dad. Honestly, I was angry about it because I just didn't understand why she kept allowing herself to be involved with him considering his abusive past and controlling ways.

Mike and I continued about our night, putting the kids to bed and and watching television as we do every Friday night. While I usually fall asleep on the couch by 10pm, this night was different. I was more alert than usual and even as I went into the bathroom to get ready for bed at 11, I found myself not tired. It wasn't until 12:30 that my head finally hit that pillow.

30 minutes later, at 1:05 am, my phone rang.

It was a 391 number, which I remember thinking could only mean one of two things: 1) I had forgotten I was on call and someone from work was trying to call me or 2) something had happened. Because any time a Spectrum Health phone number calls you at 1:00 am and it's not for work purposes, it can't be a good thing.

I sat up immediately. On the other end of the line I remember hearing a woman's voice stating her name and that she worked in the Spectrum Health ER downtown. Without pause, I asked her what was wrong. She said, "I'm here with your mom and she's been assaulted. We need you to come down." Immediately, my response was, "Assaulted by my dad, right?" When she verified this, I explained that I was on my way.

As I picked up my sister and drove downtown, my mind was racing. "How could he hit her? How bad is it?" My dad, though an angry and emotionally abusive person, had never reached the level of becoming physically abusive. There were many times in my life that I expected him to lash out at one of us in that manner but he was always able to maintain his composure. I asked Brittany as we drove, "Do you think Dad would ever kill himself?" This was the first time we had ever had a conversation like this and I was surprised to hear that our answers matched. This was something I had been concerned of for a while, but knowing that she too was concerned about it made it so much more scary.

At the time, I had no idea just how serious of a situation we were walking into. I figured that an argument had errupted and my mom had been hit by him, left the house and went straight to the ER. I worried that if he had hit her, that he'd try to harm himself while waiting at the house for the police to come.

I wish it had been that simple.

As we walked into the ER, the triage nurse informed us that we would have to wait for the social worker to come get us. My gut knew immediately that this was a bad thing. As Ruth greeted us, she escorted us back into a private hallway and then into a conference room. While walking I asked, "Is my mom okay? How is she?" She paused in her response and stated, "Your mom is alive." It was in that moment that I knew something far worse than I had ever imagined had in fact taken place.

Ruth explained that my mom had been the victim of a murder-suicide attempt. She discussed some of the details with us and then escorted us back to my mom.

When I turned that corner, all I could see and smell was blood. It was everywhere. All I could hear was moaning.

I remember crumbling as I stood in that doorway, not sure if I could emotionally or physically handle taking another step.

But then my mom saw us and called out for us. She reached for both Brittany and I and grabbed my hand as I was the one closest to her. She held it so tight that it hurt.

I stood next to her and watched as the blood continued to pour out of her. She was unrecognizable. How could this be my mom??

As the trauma team cared for her, she remained alert and was able to verbalize the key components of what had happened. She was in so much pain though and the only thing I wanted to do was take that pain away from her. Fix this in some way. As they began the sutures, Brittany and I both knew that we needed to step out. It was then that we started making phone calls to our family - Mike, Dan, our Uncle Den and Aunt Amy - and asking them to come down. We needed them there. I wanted to call my Papa but I knew he wouldn't be able to handle these initial sights so I held off. Nana was out of town, which didn't help the matter.

As one of my mom's primary concerns was for her dog (if you know her, this should come as no surprise to you) whom she had taken up there that night, Brittany and I decided that one of us needed to go up to the house to get Bailey. As Brittany was struggling a bit more with the blood and the care my mom was receiving, we felt it was best that she go and I stay.

Our Detective arrived about an hour after we did. I stood next to her, holding her hand as she gave him the details of exactly what had happened that night. As she discussed the details, I could so easily picture every action taken and word spoken and it felt as though her words were playing like a movie in my head. The only thing I still cannot picture, thankfully, are the faces of my parents as this all happened. The look on my dad's face as he beat her with multiple blunt-force weapons. The look on my mom's face as she laid there on that floor, not knowing if she was going to live or die that night.

I still cannot believe she was able to discuss the details of the attack with such clarity after suffering such severe head injuries. A blessing from God for sure.

I remember the reaction of each person as they walked into her hospital room and saw her for the first time. The look of pure shock and disbelief spread across their faces, the tears they shed.

Saturday was about survival. Hers. Ours.

Sunday, for me, was a day of disbelief. I woke up at 5 am and the first thing that flashed through my mind was the image of my mom laying on that ER hospital bed, covered in blood. I immediately knew that I wouldn't be going back to sleep so I chose to get up, get showered and get to the hospital.

The minute I started washing my hair, it hit me like a brick wall. I cried in that shower for a good 30 minutes and the minute I walked into my mom's hospital room and saw her laying in that bed again, I lost it some more.

How could he do this to her? How could he do this to us? What if she had died? Losing my mom would have forever devastated me, especially losing her in this manner. My mom, the pillar of strength, laying in that hospital bed and so badly injured was impossibly painful to deal with.

Add on to that the fact that my dad was the one that caused all of this pain simply made it unbearable.

Throughout the weekend I was too focused on my mom to pay much consideration to my dad. Yes, I had spoken with his nurse via telephone call (he had been taken to Blodgett for observation rather than Buttterworth for safety precautions) and asked the questions I needed to. But aside from that, I cared less about what had happened to him in the midst of this process.

Monday, my world came crumbling down all over again. We had been forewarned that this might make the news but I never truly believed that it would. When Brittany suddenly said to me, "Haley, come here a minute" while escorting me out of the hospital room and then handed me her phone, all my eyes could focus on was his mugshot picture splashed across the screen. It was in that moment that something in me died.

The thing is, my dad did a horrific thing to one of the people I love most in this world. But he's still my dad. And all of our memories with him aren't bad. He helped raise my daughter for God's sake. So to see that picture spread so publicly and to know the implications of what this would mean for his life as well as ours, it was devastating.

I went home Monday night only to realize that reporters were scouring our neighborhood looking for someone to give a statement. Fox 17 went door to door and thankfully, struck out time and time again. When they approached my home they had no idea that they had arrived on the (temporary) doorstep of my father's daughter. They parked their news van on the corner of our street, stalking me as I hurriedly walked to our long-time neighbors house in tears.

Tuesday and Wednesday have been numb for me. I recognize that certain things "should" make me cry but more often than not, the tears just don't come.  I feel paralyzed in my grief.

Thursday, I went to the Rockford house. Everyone thought it was a bad idea for me to go up there alone but I knew in my heart that I needed to do it. Not only for the sake of the house but for the sake of my heart. The room in which the attack took place needed to be cleaned before even more damage set in. (We hired someone else to do that job, by the way.) And for myself, I needed to step foot into the place in which my life was shattered. I needed to see the space in which my dad spent his final "free" days and gather some insight into where his head was at. I cleaned the kitchen up from the final dinner they shared. I took out the trash, cleaned out the fridge, did the dishes, wiped down the counters.

I spent more than an hour in that house before I decided I was strong enough to see where it all happened. To see where he had attacked her, where she had tried to fight him off but ultimately had to play dead in order to survive. I saw the spot in which she layed for hours, easily identified by the blood spilled onto the carpet there.

This whole experience has felt surreal. On Monday night, while getting ready to head back up to the hospital to spend the night with my mom, I made a sarcastic comment to Mike about how my life was "a living nightmare." I laughed the minute it came out of my mouth. "I've said that so many times before but this time, its actually true," I told him.

These things are supposed to happen to other people. I never expected my life to take a turn like this - to be standing next to my mom's hospital bed in the ER, not sure if she's going to survive or not. To see my dad's mugshot on every local news channel. To be faced with the reality that he's likely going to spend the rest of his life in prison. To know that he hurt her, and us, like this and did so intentionally with a great amount of premeditation.

I struggle with triggers, just as my mom and sister do.

Tonight, I turned on TV and while looking at the guide, I realized it was 8pm because Last Man Standing was on. My mom remembers the timeline of the attack based on what was playing on the television. It was in that moment that I thought, "One week ago, right now, this nightmare began." The smell of blood sent me reeling yesterday when a hangnail began to bleed. Last night I had my first nightmare about this, though I thankfully didn't remember the details of the nightmare once I woke up.

My children and my husband miss me but right now, I'm needed more elsewhere. When I'm at home, my anxiety is much higher than it is when I'm with my mom so for the most part, I stay with my mom during the daytime hours.

With regards to Liana, we explained to her that Nana was in an "accident". While I know that someday she'll learn the truth about her Papa, she's too young to understand his actions right now. We had cut ties with him about six weeks ago after an argument between him and I in which he blamed me for the divorce. While it had been painful to keep her separate from him, I'm now so incredibly thankful that things happened the way that they did and that we don't have to deal with that pain now on top of the pain we're already feeling.

These are the darkest days our family has ever experienced and the nature of what has happened is incredibly isolating. The media attention has made this feeling a lot worse, too. So many people have reached out to us with help and support and while each facebook message, text, or phone call means the world, I feel all alone in this because there's not a single person that can even begin to understand what this feels like. The only person that can truly understand what I'm going through is my sister but even we feel differently in some ways. My friends are there if I want to talk but where do I even start? Even if I could find a starting point, my thoughts are so all over the place right now that it'd hardly make much sense.

Eleven days from today, we will sit across the courtroom from my dad. I have a lot of anxiety already when it comes to thinking about that day and the range of emotions I will feel. I've been told that the media will be present, which only makes this so much worse. Never before have I felt so vulnerable and exposed.

My mom continues to get stronger each day. She's able to ambulate on her own with the use of a walker and sometimes without (though she tends to get yelled at by yours truly when she takes a step without it). Her bruising has turned a lovely shade of yellow and by the improvement we've seen so far, I'm lead to believe that most of it will be gone next week already. She received more than 40 staples to her head and hundreds of sutures to her face, all of which will come out on Monday and Tuesday. She remains quite forgetful which is likely due to the concussion but may also be worsened by the pain meds she currently needs. Next week is full of appointments, all of which I will be taking her to because I can't handle the thought of anyone else doing it for me.

Even though this is at the forefront of my life right now, its unlikely that I'll be able to write about it much because of the court proceedings.

Please continue to keep my family in your prayers. We covet them right now. While we've had some terrible days already, I anticipate that the preliminary hearing and subsequent trial will be worse as we are forced to relive this tragedy, face my dad in court, and cope with the fact that our darkest days are entertainment news to others.